Evening in Marley always felt heavy…
Not because the sun was setting, but because something in the air carried the weight of an unspoken farewell.
In the narrow stone corridor leading to their small apartment, Sarah stood by the door, watching her sister Layla pack her black medical bag with growing unease.
"A military camp?"
Sarah's voice rose for the first time in days.
"Why you? Why now?"
Layla tightened the straps on her bag before answering softly:
"They requested psychological support for soldiers returning from the eastern front. My supervisor assigned me. He said they needed someone skilled… someone who can gather broken souls before they shatter completely."
Sarah stepped closer and seized her sister's hand.
"But war isn't a place for healing. Soldiers don't listen to poetry, Layla. This is a machine built for death, and you're not a gear in it."
Layla smiled gently, cupping Sarah's cheek.
"I'm not going to fight. I'm going to remind them they're human.
We're what's left of our mother… our hearts were never meant to become battlefields.
But we can't run from the shadows war leaves behind."
Sarah couldn't find an answer.
She stood in the doorway, watching Layla walk away —
watching the last strand of safety she had in Marley fade into the gathering dusk.
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❖ Two Days Later — Office of the Marleyan Intelligence Commander
A polished wooden office saturated with the scent of expensive cologne… and corruption.
Sarah sat before a long table, eyes drifting across sealed folders, her face drained of color.
Commander Falco Regnard entered the room with the silent confidence of a predator who preferred to kill with words rather than teeth.
"Miss Jalal," he said calmly,
"I hope you've been well."
Sarah didn't answer.
Regnard opened a drawer and placed a recent photograph in front of her.
Layla stood among soldiers, a faint, forced smile on her lips.
Behind her — a tall iron fence.
"Layla is on assignment, as you've been told.
But she won't be leaving that camp… for now."
For the first time, Sarah looked genuinely afraid of the answer she hadn't yet asked.
"A… hostage?"
Regnard's smile sharpened.
"Let's call her… an honored guest.
No cell, no chains.
But each sunrise depends entirely on your cooperation."
Silence filled the room, cold and sharp.
Then he continued, voice smooth as a blade:
"We have one year.
Twelve months for you to uncover everything about the Founding Titan — its secrets, its limits, its potential control."
"Why me?" Sarah whispered.
He moved closer.
"Because your blood carries your father's mind…
and your face carries your mother's aristocratic shadow.
You were born between two worlds —
which makes you the only one capable of infiltrating a third."
Sarah lifted her gaze, her voice barely there.
"And if I fail?"
"Then you will not be the only one who pays the price."
The words dropped into the room like a bullet.
Regnard placed a sealed yellow envelope before her, marked with the emblem of the War Council.
"Your ship leaves for Paradis at dawn.
Be the scientist… or be the bridge.
But remember this —
Layla is the clock measuring your every step."
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❖ The Night Before Departure
In her dimly lit room, Sarah held her father's old letter in one hand,
and in the other — a photograph of Layla as a child, laughing in their mother's arms.
"Mother…" she whispered,
"you didn't live to see what we've become.
But if you're watching now… forgive us.
The world that feared you has chosen to raise us as tools —
for knowledge… or for death."
She pressed the photo to her chest and looked at her reflection in the mirror:
A woman of thirty,
with storm–grey eyes trained in patience,
and lips that refused to tremble even as her soul burned.
In her journal, she wrote the first line of her journey toward Paradis:
"When the truth demands my sister as its price,
I cannot remain a scientist.
I will become a blade of knowledge —
not to win…
but to make sure I do not lose everything."
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